Monty Python on LXG
by Samyo
Summary: What do you get when you put Monty Python and The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen together? Something very, very wrong. Please R&R. Other people are reading it, so why don't you?
1. chp 1

Title: Monty Python on The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen

Author: Samyo

Rating: T

Genre: Humor

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing...blah blah blah...you know the drill.

* * *

In the year 1899, the last time Scottland ever qualified for the World Cup, the world was at unrest. Victoria's Secret had just came out with a new bra line, wait, wrong line. Oh yes, times were hard for a century and an era were coming to a end. One-shot rifles and horse-drawn cannons would be replaced by automatics and submarines, the Beetles would split up, Prince Charles would be called gay...

* * *

_Dear BBC,_

_ I am greatly disturbed by this useless nonsense for most of this has absolutely nothing to do with the film. I myself was alive in 1899, and even then, royals were accused of homosexuality, so it doesn't even really phase anyone, anymore._

_ Sincerely,_

_ Joan Rivers_

_

* * *

_

Well, you can't expect me to stick to the script all the time, anyway, a mysterious shaking of the earth started. Bricks tarted falling to the streets, chimneys collapsed.

"Arthur, the chimney fell off the roof again."

"What the hell do you want me to do?"

"Go up and fix it."

"I'm not doing it right now."

"Of course, because you're too busy watching the damn telly."

* * *

"Officer, officer."

"Yes, Dr. Gumby."

"A tank is coming this way."

"Oh yes...what's a tank."

"I don't know."

But if only the bobby had listened to Dr. Gumby, for a large chunk of metal was suddenly coming his way. The others ran and started hitting buildings with their stick thingys, but he just stood still.

"Stop, stop in the name of the law."It did stop, it stopped all but three feet in front of him.

"Excuse me, officer," said a voice inside with a thick German accent, "but may you tell directions to British Museum?"

"Oh, yes; three blocks down, take a right, first building on right."

"Danke."

"Hey, are you a German?"

"Nein, nein, I mean, no, no. I born in London, never learned to play football because I got shingles as child."

"Oh, could of sworn you were German. Well, carry on; heard they had a nice Cleopatra exhibit at the museum."

Sadly, a mere second later, the bobby was ran over by the tank.

And a mere 45 seconds later, someone cut the cheese.

And a minute later, they had reached the British Museum.

* * *

"Phil, you hear that."

"No."

"Don't you think that we should check it out."

"Would we be paid extra."

"Well, no."

"Then pretend that you never heard it."

Suddenly, just then, the tank came crashing through the walls, blasting through bookcase after bookcase, crashing a Sports Illustrated model shoot, running over a herd of stoned hippies.

It stopped in front of a vault and one of the beings inside opened a small window.

"Hey, there's men inside."

"Maybe one of them is Elvis."

The tank blew open the vault and men started to emerge from the tank. First came a soldier, then women in bikinis, that more soldiers, a Richard Nixon impersonator, then the Phantom, who started to do a jig.

* * *

_"My name is the Phantom, though you may call me Frank. I love to dance the polka, just like Mary Sue. I sometimes press wild flowers, and put on bright pinks pumps. But then again, killing is fun, so kill them all, but leave one alive so...well, you know the rest."

* * *

_

"Such treasures," a soldier said to the Phantom.

"Hey, I think I see the Mona Lisa," yelled another.

"Treasures, yes, with some worth more than others, some prettier than others, some more intoxicating than others..."

Right...anyway, the world was in shock. Shortly after, the Phantom went to Germany and blew up some zeppelins and kidnaped some scientists, but not before he had tea with his sister in law, gave CPR to a mountain goat, and won the Nobel Peace Prize, wait, the Evil Genius Nobel Peace Prize.

The headlines on the papers could say it all.

* * *

**"Great Britain Attacked, Germany Accused"**

**"Germany says Not Us"**

**"Women stuck in Well for Ten Hours"**

**"Gigli Becomes Killer Video Tape"

* * *

**

Is there any hope, will the world finally be ruled by damn dirty apes? Stay tune, and review, and may God help us all.


	2. chp 2

So you want to read more, do you? No, you stop it! I'm serious...oh...right, um, just some voices in my head. Yes, just the voices in the head. Nothing to worry about, yes, yes...yes, yes, yes. I'm serious, I'm trying to narrate here! Don't make me come in there! Hey, what are you looking at? You want to question my sanity, don't you, you miserable bastard! Here I am, trying to tell things the way they really happened, and you're suddenly acting like the Spanish Inquisition.

"Did somebody say the Spanish Inquisition?"

Sorry, you're not in this movie.

"Are you sure?"

Quite sure, in fact, I'm positive.

"Well, could we be in this movie anyway?"

Absolutely not.

"Then why was Dr. Gumby in this?"

Because I felt like it.

"This is discrimination."

On what grounds?

"Sacred grounds."

Sod off.

"You'll burn in hell for that."

Oh, you're all a bunch of fairies.

"Well, could we at least put someone on the rack?"

Pardon?

"Can we put someone on the rack, you know, force them to convert or torture them."

Get out.

* * *

I say, its impossible to narrate anymore without the Spanish Inquisition coming after you.

"Did someone..."

Get the hell out! I am sick, and tired, an if I get interrupted one more time...hey...don't you dare interrupt me.

* * *

"And now for something completely different."

* * *

Well, let me introduce myself. I'm Arthur, though some like to call me Frank, and I will be narrating the rest of the film. You see, the previous narrator has been having problems at home. You see, he caught his wife seducing a milkman, well, several milkmen, and he just found out that his son is an upper class twit. Well, now that you all now that very confidential information, let's finally continue with this film.

* * *

Kenya, a truly beautiful country, though I can't see why this part couldn't be based in Manchester.

* * *

Oh yes, now its based in Manchester. In the distance, you see a taxi, a bright yellow taxi. Suddenly, animals are exploding all around it. Then, you see some undertakers having a tea party on the side of the road. Then, the taxi goes off the road and blows up.

Luckily, a man named Sanderson Reed wasn't in that taxi; he wasn't even in a taxi at all. He was in a horse drawn carriage, looking serious, but still looking gay and dandy, but more importantly, was looking serious.

The carriage stopped in front of the local, Kenyan-theme club. He, of course or it would be rather silly and quite a waste of time if he didn't, entered the club and inquired on the whereabouts of a certain person. However, before he could, a gorilla came in and started to maul people.

"Stop it, or else I'll have to fire me."

"Excuse me," interjected Reed, "but don't you mean that you want to fire him."

"Oh, well yes." The man turns to the gorilla. "Stop it, our I'll have to fire you."

"Sir, could I also ask why you employ a wild gorilla?"

"We needed a bouncer, and he isn't that wild; we only got him from the dark jungles of Africa. Besides, that's none of your business, you upper class twit."

"Pardon?"

"Why are you here?"

"Oh yes, I was just wondering..."

"Hold on for a second." The man picks up a ringing telephone. "Hello, this is he. Yes, yes,"stops while he takes off his shoe and looks at it. "Size four, yes, no, no, yes." He hangs up the phone.

"Where is Quartermain?"

"In the club."

"Where in this club?"

"Not this one; the one that's actually in Africa."

* * *

Well, you didn't have to do what I said. It was only a suggestion, so don't you dare try to blame this on me. Anyway, we are now in Kenya, but must go immediately into the club for we have lost valuable time and I don't feel like narrating it.

"Where's Quartermain?"

"The gentleman in the back."

While making his way toward the back, Reed couldn't help but notice a certain nude organist in the corner, which frightened him yet made him feel warm and fuzzy at the same time.

* * *

"That is absolutely disgusting, Richard."

"What is, luv?"

"Isn't it obvious? This is a gay film!"

"No it isn't, stuff blows up in it."

"Still, it's a gay film."

"But Sean Connery is in it."

* * *

"Are you Mr. Quartermain?"

"No, honey, but I could be." Reed was frightened again, and then felt a warm fuzzy feeling, but then felt awfully stupid for Quartermain wasn't a cross-dresser. Now that it was made clear that this disturbed man wasn't Quartermain, he went to the man sitting next to him.

"Are you Mr. Quartermain?" The man wasn't a cross-dresser, but he could of been one of those other highly disturbed people.

"Yes, I am, and from the looks of it, you're a traveler who accidently killed someone and needs tips on getting rid of the body."

"Ughh..." See, I was right; he was one of the highly disturbed type.

"The Empire needs you...I guess...because...um...the Empire is in peril."

"But the question is, do I need the Empire, and, could I really save money on my car insurance?

"The Empire is in peril."

"Yes, I know; you said that already."

"Nations are set at each others throats, what I speak of could set a match to the whole thing; war."

"With whom?"

"Everyone, a world war."

"Even with Larches...Yes, I know that was completely random and if you speak of it with anyone, I will see to it that you..."

"I won't tell anyone...if the tabloids don't count as anyone."

"So, this world war thing; does that notion make you sweat."

"Heavens man, doesn't you. It makes me sweat so much, I have to use three deodorants every hour."

"This is Africa, dear boy; we use up to seven every five minutes. Isn't that right, James?"

"Yes, quite right, Alan."

"Where is your sense of patriotism." As he said this words, Quartermain stood up and raised umbrella martini.

"God save the Queen!"

"And rock and roll."

"And twins."

* * *

**Note from BBC:** What proceeded was the beer song that is so stupid and pointless that all Americans know it better than their national anthem. For that matter, it was cut from the film for it being just plain stupid and for other disturbing things that occurred, such as people getting drunk and dancing on the tables. The BBC is very sorry, but hopes that you'll enjoy the rest of this film.

* * *

"That's as patriotic as it gets around here."

"Yes, I see; if only it was like that back in London. Anyway, we need you to lead a team of unique individuals, like yourself, to combat this threat."

* * *

Will Quartermain say yes? Will my dogs stop pissing all over my carpets? Stay tune, and review, and may God stop watching the damn telly and save us all.

* * *

**Note from Samyo:** Hey guys, sorry I couldn't say anything, but you know how those BBC announcers are. I'm sorry if the last bit went out of order, but you can totally blame the BBC.

* * *

**Note from BBC:** It is not our fault, it is her's, so go crying to her.

* * *

**Note from Samyo:** Bastards. 


	3. chp 3

Oh, hello...um...who are you? What do you want? Oh, you want to read more; silly me. Well, you know how hard times are these days, and some things just slip my mind. You know, Prince Charles and his marriage to that dreadful women, Elton John getting married to that fairy, finding out that my husband only speaks in anagrams; am I boring you? You want me to narrate, you say? Oh, I'm not the narrator, but I'll go get him for you. Arthur, get away from the damn telly and narrate the bloody story!

* * *

But I'm watching football!

* * *

I don't care if you were playing bloody crocea with the Queen herself. Oh, and to think I could of been with that nice Potter boy, but instead I picked a sod like you!

* * *

Well, it isn't like I was watching Scottish tennis. Anyway, back to this terribly interesting story. No, I'm not being sarcastic, for it is terribly interesting (though more like terribly bad). 

Alright, so we're at the part of the story where Quartermain answers Reed's question, whatever that was. Okay, I've been drinking since the last chapter; give me a break. If you don't know the question, read the last chapter. Oh, so you're too lazy to read it, eh? Then, your mother is a hamster and your father smelt of...what was that again...who the hell cares.

* * *

"Arthur, can you narrate or will we have to find someone else." 

I'll narrate, yes, yes, yes; it will even be better than before. I 'll even start over, yes, yes, yes.

* * *

So, Reed waited patiently for Quartermain's answer, so his mind began to wonder. He began to question the meaning of life and existence, he thought of how to rid the world of hunger and poverty, he wondered if that department store in London was still having that sale on ants, then he remembered that he forgot to lock the tiger cage and hoped that it hadn't eaten his mother. Before Quartermain could answer, however, a group of old grannies came in and started beating up random people with their purses. 

"That's what you get when you don't tip the waiter properly!" one yelled in a rather annoying, high pitched scream. Thankfully, the bartender let loose a herd of hyenas, causing those wicked wenches to run for the hills. Serves them right; reminds me of the time when my father defeated a whole lot of Germans with just his shoe and some dental floss.

Suddenly, a group of men dressed rather peculiarly entered, but stopped when one of them answered a ringing telephone nearby.

"Hello, yes, no, right on schedule, what?" He stopped to take off his shoe. "Size four, fine, size eight and a half." What proceeded was the other men taking off their shoes and telling the mysterious man on the other line what their shoe size was, and since we're crunched on time and I don't feel like narrating it, we're going to fast forward and go to the part where they go up to the man which offered advice on how to get rid of dead bodies.

"Mr. Quartermain, sir?"

"Yes..." The man who offered advice on how to get rid of dead bodies was shot in the chest, causing everyone to run for cover, or to fetch their guns, or bananas, or any fruit that could be used for self defense. Quartermain reached for his gun and shot the man who shot the man who offered advice on how to get rid of dead bodies.

* * *

"_Dennis Moore, Dennis Moore, riding through the land._

_He takes from the rich and gives to poor._

_Dennis Moore, Dennis Moore."

* * *

_

It was the famed Dennis Moore who came to save the day, but of course, because he has the gift of doing so, screwed it all up.

"Give me your roses and no one gets hurt," he said to the peculiarly dressed men. What followed was the exchange of twenty bouquets of roses between the men and Dennis Moore. Dennis Moore then exited the club and went on his way to the local poor.

* * *

"_Dennis Moore, Dennis Moore, riding through the land._

_He takes from the rich and gives to the poor._

_Dennis Moore, Dennis Moore."

* * *

_

"I got you some roses," he said to the poor man.

"But we need medicine, and food; not some more bloody roses. We have roses coming out of our ears, quite literally."

"But I thought you liked the roses."

"Get the hell out, you bloody sod hopper. Steal some food and medicine for God's sake, put some clothes on- take some penicillin for that also. " Oh, I almost forgot, this whole time, Dennis Moore had been stark naked.

* * *

"_Dennis Moore, Dennis Moore, riding through the land._

_He steals from the rich and gives to the poor._

_Dennis Moore, Dennis Moore."

* * *

_

He had returned to the club, and now knew what he was suppose to steal.

"Give me you food and medicine and no one gets ahhhhhhhh!" Thank God somebody shot him; the whole damn thing was mucking up the story. Now that we can get back to the really interesting part, Quartermain and Reed took cover behind the chair. From there, it was noticed that the men were wearing some sort of armor.

"They're indestructible."

"No, just armored plated." Quartermain then got up and ran towards the men like a wild maniac. This scene is so stupid, really. Okay, there's like a seventy year old man running up to these armored assassins with a puny revolver at hand, I mean, seriously. Oh well, the sooner he dies, the quicker this movie ends.

"Shit," Quartermain mumbled under his breath, for the men brought out these big guns that could give you a serious bo-bo if you got shot with them. He then ran in the opposite like a speeding bullet.

* * *

"It's a bird." 

"It's a plane"

* * *

I won't even start, you bleeding morons. Anyway, they started shooting at him with these guns, and somehow, do to the magic of movies, Quartermain didn't get shot. He took cover behind a table. 

"Automatic rifles, who the hell has automatic rifles?"

"They're probably fat Belgium bastards."

"Hello sir, and you've just won our Best Put Down Term For a Belgium Award and..." Oh, what a shame; he got killed, too. It's like a slaughterhouse today, I must say.

I'm going to put it to you straight; this is boring, so we're going to go past the part where one of the men starts strip dancing, past the part where Quartermain impales someone on a bumble bee stinger, and go to the part where Quartermain has to make a very long shot.

"He's so far away, can you shoot him?" Quartermain retrieved his glasses from his pocket.

"I hate getting older." He shot the man with ease, and some of the villagers dragged him to where Quartermain and Reed stood.

"Stop him, I need information."

"But what about our needs, Mr., Quartermain, what about our needs?"

"Stop him; the British will be out of here in like sixty years." While the crowd cheered, the man who Quartermain shot killed himself.

"War in Europe will spread to its colonies." In full technicolor glory, the club blew up. Quartermain then went on some crazy rant which involved him banging his head on the ground.

"Stella, Stella!"

"Mr. Quartermain, pull yourself together, you big pansy."

"I'm sorry, but explosions make me feel like screaming Stella a lot and banging my head on the ground. Sometimes I even go as far as wearing pretty evening gowns and pretending that I'm the Minister of Interior."

"That's nice; I'm going to throw up now. It seems that the war has already begun."

"I'm in."

"Good, then pack for an English summer and a whole lot of frat parties."

* * *

Will war start in Europe and spread to its colonies. Will I stop getting an F in Algebra II? Stay tuned, and review, for the cable is out and God might give a damn and save us all. 


	4. Chapter 4

Do not…even… start…with…me. I've just gotten back from the war against pornography, and it wasn't pretty with all of it's scantily clad women, men in bondage…

"You're drooling again…"

LEAVE ME ALONE!(Belgian bastards). It wasn't only that. Samyo, that cow was ignoring me. Wanted to finish Of the Vanishing Kind, you know, her other story.

* * *

"Liddy, did you read it."

"What, Martha?"

"Her other story?"

"Huh?"

"HER OTHER BLEEDIN STORY?"

"Maybe."

"And?"

"Completely dreadful."

"Narrator is right; Samyo, you're a bleedin cow."

* * *

**Note from Samyo:** Fine, then you're not in this story anyomore.

* * *

"You don't have to; we're leaving to be on that mountaineering expedition to Kilimanjaro right now."

* * *

**Samyo:** I didn't know you were a climber.

* * *

"I'm not, but I'm perfect for it anyway."

* * *

**Samyo:** Can you at least speak Swahili?

* * *

"What's that?"

* * *

**Samyo:** Arthur, continue with the story.

* * *

I could've been a cricket announcer, be drunk and merry all day…wait, um, oh yes…the dreadful train wreck of a story.

Sometime in 1899, Quartermain arrived in London during the beautiful summer months. It's gloom and doom was perfect for anyone even thinking of suicide, and was the ideal vacation spot of the Kamikaze Scottish Guard.

* * *

"But why it's so gloomy, scholars from around the world are still trying to figure it…"

* * *

Give me back my damn microphone, useless bastard. Here I am, trying to narrate, and some bastard comes along, stealing the spot for a stupid documentary.

* * *

**Note From the BBC:** The documentary in question was considered the greatest documentary ever made, and also, was entitled, The Greatest Documentary Ever Made. It was known as…

* * *

**Note for BBC:** The program you are watching has become A History of the Documentary.

* * *

…the first documentary to ever really, and fully, and analyze the violent nature and lack of communication of the world today. And the pink rhino said to…

* * *

**Note from the BBC:** The program you are watching has now become a Saturday morning kid's cartoon.

* * *

…the purple giraffe…

* * *

WOULD YOU PLEASE STOP WITH THIS NONSENSE! If the BBC, the whole group of midget fairies interrupts me one more time…they were going to.

"No, um, what are you talking about."

My mother was right when she said I should of become a village idiot like my father, but no, I wanted to narrate.

Well, now that I got that off my chest, and, I am feeling quite better, let's continue with the story.

When Quartermain exited the hansom, Sanderson Reed was waiting for him, with a lovely, Italian made, _yellow polka dot bikini, that she wore for the first time today. An itsy, bitty, teeny, weenie, yellow polka dot bikini_…

* * *

"Freddie, look, they're singing the song from the yogurt commercial."

"And to think I thought this was a Sean Connery film."

* * *

After about five minutes, Reed stopped singing, and Quartermain was very much afraid.

"So…um…do all of you government people…um, how should I say…wear bikinis in the summer?"

"No, I was just finally able to fit into my _itsy, bitty, teeny_…"

* * *

"Stop it, stop this sketch. Right, this sketch has gotten way to silly. Now, continue, but no more silliness."

* * *

Fine, Reed is no longer wearing an _itsy, bitty_…

* * *

"I demand to see the author right this moment. This entire story has gotten incredibly out of hand. Now, where is she?"

Not here.

"What do you mean?"

Please leave a message and she call you back when time permits.

"How can she be gone, she's writing it right now?"

No she's not.

"Then who's writing it?"

Ghostwriter.

* * *

Oh, I can't take it anymore, it has all become too much. The Fantom is still trying to take over the world, the author is no where to be found, and during all of this time, I've come to realize that there is a penguin on my telly, and it's not moving! Please review, and please God, make that penguin go away! 


	5. Chapter 5

**Note from Samyo:** So sorry, but shit happens. You see, we've been having problems with the cat, you know. He just sits there on the lawn, doing nothing. Won't eat, won't play, won't kill the mice, it's…it's…it's (starts bawling insanely).

* * *

Did you call a veterinarian?

* * *

**Note from Samyo:** Yes, and he called Confuse a Cat. But that damn Picasso is painting a masterpieces on his bicycle again, so they won't be here for awhile.

* * *

Well, you know, we could pick this whole thing up another day….

* * *

**Note for Samyo:** No, because if we give up now, then we'll be overrun by the grannies who beat people with purses, and this whole production will turn into a Miss Marple serial.

* * *

Oh, okay then….

* * *

After the shock of seeing Sanderson Reed in an itsy, bitty…

* * *

"Stop this sketch immediately. It's gotten far too…"

* * *

I'm only screwing with you, you fairy. God, just trying to bring a laugh, that's all. Suddenly a crime now, eh?

Now, if you didn't know already, a thing native to England and Scandinavia, called rain, was going on through out all this.

"Mr. Reed, does it always rain as spontaneously as this."

"No, only when the author has no clue what the hell she is doing."

So, naturally, they decided to go in.

They went through a hallway, another hallway, a different looking hallway, the same hallway they passed three times before, witnessed a mob hit, found Jimmy Hoffa, and then finally came to a really long staircase. I would be lying if I said that Quartermain wasn't disappointed when he found out that it wasn't one of those moving staircases from Harry Potter.

"Lies, it's all lies…wait, how much longer does this go?"

"All in good time, Mr. Quartermain, all in good time."

Roughly three hours later, they we were still walking down the stairs.

"Where are we going, Australia."

"No, to an underground pornography shop."

"Seriously?"

"No."

"Ah man."

* * *

**Note from Samyo:** It's a miracle. Picasso fell off his bicycle while he was on London Bridge, so Confuse a Cat was able to come. They were able to cure the cat. I am so happy now!

* * *

Samyo, no one cares.

* * *

**Samyo:** That confused whatever was wrong with him right out of him

* * *

Samyo, keep writing the story.

* * *

**Samyo:** No.

* * *

Why not?

* * *

**Samyo:** We're going to celebrate by seeing the Minister of the Interior strip while discussing current affairs.

* * *

Will we ever be able to get through more than two minutes of the film per chapter? Will Samyo ever stop ranting about her cat? Oh, you remember that penguin that was on my telly. Well, there's another one. They're taking over, I tell you. Please review, and may God bring an end to the idea of never ending stairwells. 


End file.
